Saturday, December 16, 2017

This indescribable sensory blend of freedom, space and tranquility. Something
which I have never experienced before. Anywhere. This ability to walk into an
almost empty park, lie down under a tree full of yellow autumn leaves and just
watch them flutter down one by one whenever a hint of a breeze passed through.
This ability to just be there at that present moment and experience the magic
of autumn unfolding, without having to constantly look around to see who is
approaching, or that the angled golden rays filtering through the trees meant
that it would soon be time to head towards safer places. This ability to just
be me, outside in the open world, which in India can only be done in the
confines of your home if you are privileged enough to stay on your own.

I travelled through Netherland, Germany and Slovenia for almost a
month, visiting friends and family, and trying to experience the life of a local.
The weather became my friend; for wherever I went, it pushed away the grey
clouds and brought out the sun. Even in a stubbornly grey and rainy Berlin. Nature
played out its part gorgeously, but in a languid and teasing sort of way,
turning yellow and red and brown and barren in bits and parts. Sitting on a bench besides one of the narrow
canals in Amsterdam and reading, experiencing the silence around a crystal
clear lake in Slovenia, running after a tram in an empty street late at night
in Dresden, and walking along the river Neckar in Heidelberg on a chilly
afternoon, life seemed perfect. Almost dream-like.

Along the way, I understood that these countries (even ‘poorer’
Slovenia) have achieved a quality of life that we can only dream of here, which
values human life and dignity. A standard of life where the goal of earning
money, which has driven our nation literally batty, has lost its importance.
Because everything else is taken care of: from super-efficient idiot proof
public transport systems, fresh food (now also vegan) on the go, strict waste
segregation, flexible work hours, carriage for babies which can be attached to
a cycle for mothers to freely move around, pet friendly restaurants and public
transport, to even plastic-bag-pickup-points for collecting dog poop in case
you forgot to carry your own.

Along the way, I also understood that much of these privileges came at
the cost of destruction of natural resources, first theirs and then ours,
struggles of the previous generations, and a largely welfare-state approach. That
many, especially the current generation, do not realize just how privileged
they are. That the immense importance given to personal space and individualism
has resulted in people fearing overstepping boundaries creating a rather formal
and lonely community where even friendships can be more of a duty (Slovenia
still has its rough edges and hence more easy-going people). That the warmth of
community living of the East with its crazy informality amongst friends and
families, is something which the West has probably lost forever.

Yes, despite all this, life seemed perfect and dream-like. Well,
almost. Because how can life be real if there are no birdsongs, when the
mornings are eerily silent, where woods are devoid of nature’s noises. Even in
this chaotic city of Mumbai, I wake up every day to a cacophony of birdcalls.
Even now, when I wake up in the dark and I hear the single eight-note song of
the fantail, I know that dawn is about to break. Nature it seems, like people
and the systems there, is just as manicured. Even in a more ‘rural’ Slovenia. Forests,
constantly cut down in the name of its management, have little hope of home for
undergrowth or wildlife.

But in all the days of my travel, these aspects of life were
blurred, registering somewhere only in the back of my mind. Because throughout
the journey, I was busy filling my senses with this exhilarating feeling of
being able to breathe. Because I didn’t know if I will ever get to experience
it again.

Monday, May 01, 2017

Night fell even as I was taking down notes of the stories of a few
amazing women from a forest-fringe village in Chhattisgarh. Hundreds of stars
sparkled against the silhouettes of the massive trees; and I gazed and gazed
till I couldn’t strain my neck anymore. The outside temperature fell suddenly.

The talks moved invariably to ghost stories over piping hot dinner
served in the verandah of the house. I wasn’t afraid listening to them here
like I usually do in the cities. Here I felt attuned to nature and thought that
most of these ‘stories’ could relate to nature spirits.

An almost full moon had come up bright and sharp by the time we were
ready to go. The entire forest was suffused with its cool incandescent light. The
silvery mud-tracks going off into the deep jungles beckoned me, promising more
mysteries. The moonlight was so dazzling and the air so nippy that I was almost
convinced of moondrops instead of dewdrops at night.

The tarot card ‘Moon’ speaks of a world of illusions – a world which
is not what it might seem. But standing there in the middle of a dark forest
illuminated by a shimmering silver light, a night sky full of brilliant stars,
a chill which made you aware of your senses, and a deep quiet that surrounded
everything, this world was more magical than anything I had seen in the sunlit world.